


The Quality of Mercy

by Natasha



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha/pseuds/Natasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and a Federation officer who's captured him are stranded together on an icy planet where they must cooperate to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quality of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 'Star Four'.

 

 

JENNA

I was intrigued by the man from the very moment he entered the conference room. I wondered how come I hadn‘t noticed him before in Cauder‘s company. He was quite remarkable, tall, fair in complexion, his features almost perfectly proportional. At the same time, however, there was something arrogant and almost contemptuous about his expression, something which repulsed me as much as his good looks attracted me.

The meeting hadn‘t started yet, and I wondered if Cauder had been waiting for the tall newcomer to arrive. All in all, there weren‘t too many people in the room. It was actually one of the larger offices within the former Federation defence complex, now appropriated by the rebels and used as their headquarters. Not more than a few hundred hours after Avon had dismantled the solium bomb, we had received a message from Cauder. There were rumours that the Federation was getting ready to attack and retrieve Albian. It seemed that, rather than having to pay for Grant‘s services again, Cauder preferred to ask for Blake‘s counsel in organising the defence.

At the moment he and Blake were having a private talk. I listened to them for a while, but my thoughts soon wandered off from the issues of strategy they were discussing. I looked for the tall stranger again. Now he was in a far corner of the conference room, all by himself, sipping a drink. From time to time he would look at us. It seemed he wanted to approach us, but for some reason he hesitated. I couldn‘t understand why. The rest of Cauder‘s gang had been quite spontaneous, and given us a warm and wholehearted welcome...

I told myself I had no reason to be suspicious. The man was a member of the Council, and therefore had to be a close associate of Cauder‘s. But the feeling of uneasiness would not go away.

It was when Cauder left us, explaining he had to talk to some of his friends before the meeting, that the stranger finally walked up to us. He carried a glass in each hand and held them out to Blake and me, bidding us welcome.

"I feel embarrassed we haven‘t organised a proper reception for you," he said. "You‘ve done so much for us."

"We weren‘t expecting any," Blake said, accepting the glass. "We understand Cauder‘s concern. It‘s hardly a time to celebrate."

"Halec Rees,“ he introduced himself. "It‘s a pleasure to meet you, Blake. You too, Jenna."

Somehow his whole manner struck me as artificial, almost as though he were performing a role. Blake saw me raise an eyebrow and gave me a questioning look. I shrugged. I still didn‘t have anything to ground my suspicion on. Let him stay for a while and talk.

Blake asked Rees about his particular office within the Council. He replied he had been appointed to get in touch with the free traders (he used the word ‘smugglers‘, which made me frown, and amused Blake). Their self-proclaimed independence left the people of Albian little choice. They had to use illegal channels in trading, especially for buying weapons. Rees talked about the contacts he‘d made and mentioned a few names I knew. I was just about to enquire about my former colleagues, when Rees suddenly fixed his gaze on Blake and told him one of the traders had brought curious news from Ziegler 5.

For a split second a grimace, or a spasm, appeared on Blake‘s face. Then it disappeared, so quickly I wasn‘t certain whether it was just my fancy. But then I recalled Blake had mentioned the name to me. Ziegler 5, wasn‘t that the colony in the Outer Worlds where his siblings had been exiled and then secretly killed? What was this man aiming at?

Blake took a large swig from his glass. His face retained calmness, but I noticed that his knuckles on the hand holding the glass had turned white. Rather than asking anything, however, he was waiting, as if he knew something disturbing was about to follow.

Rees paused. He bowed his head, then lifted it, again a movement which struck me as feigned and contrived. Then he apologized, explaining that, after all, there was no casual way to tell us what he had found out: that Blake‘s sister was still alive, and that he had news from her.

VILA

The speaker chimed in the teleport section where Avon was on duty and I was killing time. The transmission which followed, however, was faint and unclear, hardly audible. It sounded as if either Blake or Jenna held their finger on the communication button to keep the channel open, but did not speak directly into the bracelet.

"... both killed by the Federation. Five, six years ago."

This was Blake‘s voice. Then another was heard.

"Yes, this was what the Administration planned. And they did kill your brother immediately upon arrival to Ziegler 5. But with your sister, Aran, they made a mistake. Apparently she was taken seriously ill during the flight, she was virtually dying. Then another female prisoner, not so well off, possibly a Delta, stole all of her possessions, the few valuables Aran had, and even took off her clothes, exchanging them for her rags. Now the execution of exiles who were marked for death, such as your family, had to be performed without public knowledge, in haste and secrecy, so there wasn‘t too much checking. This is how the Delta woman was mistakenly identified as Aran and killed. Your sister survived under another name."

This was the end of transmission. Obviously Blake couldn‘t keep his finger on the comm link forever without being noticed. We had used this trick before, but I just couldn‘t make out why he would need to use it this time. Surely Albian had become a friendly environment for us? Or perhaps there was still something to fear down there?

And who was the man Blake was talking to? I could hear contempt in his voice when he‘d spoken of Deltas. Yet what he had said might well be true. I‘d witnessed such robberies more than once (well, not just witnessed) while in detention. Things were stolen as a rule from the convicts who were dying, or ill, or even just asleep. Blake knew that too. I‘d initiated him into the custom myself by borrowing his watch in that transit cell on Earth.

"Isn‘t Blake supposed to be at some sort of meeting?" I asked.

"Well, he‘s not. Obviously he‘s found something more compelling than saving the Albians," Avon said dryly. He walked up to the teleport console. "He‘s still within the complex, though. The coordinates are not too different from those where I put him down."

"Blake doesn‘t exactly trust this guy, does he? I mean, that‘s why he opened the channel. He wants us to be able to reach him quickly, if something goes wrong."

"Yes, Vila, thank you for stating the obvious."

"Well, do you think he‘s telling the truth?"

He didn‘t answer; he just shrugged and rubbed the bridge of his nose. There weren‘t too many people in the charted universe who knew that even Avon could get upset. There were probably even fewer who knew he could get upset about Blake. But that was the emotion I sensed behind his feigned indifference. And when Blake‘s voice chimed again over the speaker, Avon‘s eyes became restless and, if possible, even darker that usual.

REES

Blake was silent for a while, weighing my words, probably fighting off the desire to believe me. I didn‘t expect he would; he had been suspicious even before I started talking. Still, he had been tempted enough to leave the conference room and follow me to this particular office. Which, as a matter of fact, was all I needed. I had used a good bait, probably the best possible bait for stunning Blake‘s caution: his family.

He was, however, rather successful in hiding his feelings. His face was untroubled, his breathing only a trifle accelerated. He licked his lips and looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"How did you find that out?"

"It‘s a long story," I said. "But let me first tell you where Aran is now and how to contact her."

"No. I don‘t think so."

Saying this, he pulled out his gun. It was the reaction I had expected and so I smiled as I raised my hands.

"I am not armed," I said.

"You‘re a spy."

"I‘m a Federation officer."

He was shocked by my straightforwardness, but only for an instant. Than he ordered me to keep my hands up and face the wall. He searched me for hidden weapon with roughness which betrayed his suppressed anger.

"Not a very successful spy, are you?" he mumbled hoarsely. "You obviously didn‘t do much damage to Cauder‘s movement. They‘ve carried out their revolution in spite of you. Well, it seems you‘ve failed again." He broke into a mirthless laughter. "To make up a story about my family! Another story, another lie! Did you really think I would fall for that - after all... all you‘ve done..."

The outburst of emotions left him speechless. I was somewhat surprised. I didn‘t expect the notorious resister to show so much sentiment. But no doubt the drug had started to affect him and was contributing to his emotional imbalance as well.

He ordered me to walk in front of him with my hands up; but even as he was speaking he pressed his temples hard with his thumb and forefinger. Then he rubbed his eyes. He blinked at me and stammered out a curse, finally divining my scheme. He lost the grip of his gun and dropped it. Hardly able to control his movements, he tried to bring his teleport bracelet to his lips. I pushed his arm away without much effort. The next moment, he fell unconscious on the floor.

I quickly removed his bracelet and crushed it in my hand. "No, Blake," I said to the unconscious man, "I didn‘t think you would fall for a story. The story alone would not suffice. Which, you see, is why I drugged your drink."

AVON

The test for a trap is not whether you are suspicious, but whether you are caught. And it was just like Blake, to recognize a trap and then fall right into it anyway. I kept a check on his bracelet‘s carrier signal and when it stopped transmitting I knew for certain he was in trouble. At least he‘d had enough sense to notify us of his location. After I had failed to bring him back to the Liberator, I teleported down to the same coordinates.

I found myself in a small office, somewhere in the defence complex. There was no one in there. Blake‘s teleport bracelet lay crushed on the floor. It didn‘t take me long to reconstruct the events and I started searching behind scanty furniture and technical equipment for what I knew had to be there.

The next moment Jenna rushed in and spat out a spicy curse, worthy of her freetrading renown. She knew, she said, she‘d felt that this was going to happen.

So this time it was her, not Cally, who had a hunch. I am always irritated by  people who allegedly rely on their intuition, but actually do nothing to alter the course of events when they ‘feel‘ something is wrong. Personally, I prefer to rely on my brains. I wondered what Blake relied on. Me, probably.

"Where are they now?" she asked. "What are you looking for, Avon?"

"The entrance to a tunnel," I murmured, annoyed I had to waste time on explanations. "There has to be one. He couldn‘t just walk out of here carrying Blake on his back."

We discovered it soon enough, as it had been left almost unmasked. I climbed down a long ladder to find myself in a narrow passage, dimly lit by a series of ceiling lights. Cauder was a damn fool. He should have explored this complex thoroughly before turning it into his headquarters. I was beginning to discern some common traits among the rebellion‘s leaders.

The tunnel was extremely long. I ran faster than Jenna and left her far behind. The constant rhythm of running numbed my alertness, and at one point I took a sharp turn without slowing down. I almost literally ran into Blake and his captor. The man must have heard my footsteps. He was standing there and waiting for me, using Blake‘s limp body as a shield, his gun pointed at Blake‘s head.

"Drop your weapon."

I heard the dull thud of my gun on the concrete floor. Only then did I realize what I had done. Jenna was still too far away and couldn‘t get there in time to help. The Federation man was taking his time, studying my face, pointing his gun at me and then lowering it again. I didn‘t curse him, I cursed Blake. I couldn‘t believe I‘d done something so irrational. Why hadn‘t I just fired? Was it my fault Blake had got himself into a mess? What an ironic way to die, giving my life for my ‘leader‘! A cold sensation crept over me, but I was still too angry to feel real fear. Suddenly, his weapon flashed, and the shot cut a few inches above my knee cap.

I fell down, holding back the cry, my teeth still clenched in anger. Mist drew across my gaze, as I watched him fling Blake‘s body on his back with astonishing ease and run off. Pain nauseated me and I was sweating horribly. He must have hit a major artery, for I was loosing blood rapidly. Soon the mist became much thicker.

"Blake..." I whispered, as I was coming to. I opened my eyes reluctantly to the familiar humming of instruments in the med unit. I was aboard the Liberator. Jenna‘s face hovered above me. "I‘m sorry, Avon," she said. "I didn't get him either."

"I don‘t see why you should apologize to me."

"Because I thought you might care what happened to him. Obviously, I was mistaken."

I dismissed that. "What happened?" I asked.

"I sent you back to Liberator, then kept running for a whole mile or more. There was a locked door at the end, I had to blast my way through. When I climbed up to the surface there was no one around. It was somewhere in the open, outside the city, a clearing in a grove. By the deep impressions on the grass I‘d say there had been a flyer waiting for him. He could be on the other side of the planet by now."

"Rather he‘ll be leaving the orbit soon. He‘s probably got a spaceship ready and waiting somewhere."

"Yes, I‘ve thought of that too. Cauder‘s men are looking for him everywhere, but I don‘t think they‘ll have much success. There could be a very small take-off area, a secluded Federation base the rebels know nothing about." She ran her fingers nervously through her hair and bit her lip. For a moment I thought she was going to cry, but that would be quite unlike her. "So how‘s your leg?" she asked me, her voice just a bit shaky.

"Why don‘t you tell me?"

"Some muscle damage; we‘ve taken care of that already. It‘s curious, isn‘t it? If he wanted to kill you, then he‘s a pretty bad shot. You were lucky."

I have a sincere distaste for the word ‘luck‘. A vague concept meant to classify whatever an average mind is too lazy to explore. I didn‘t think the Federation man was a bad shot - I thought he was a very good one.

JENNA

Blake never attempted being an impenetrable incognito, like Avon, and when asked, he was quite willing to talk about his former life on Earth. But these conversations, which started off in a relaxed and light-hearted atmosphere, would often give me creeps by the end. Even in the midst of a most harmless story from his youth, his voice would suddenly change its pitch and become unsteady and bitter. The reason wasn‘t hard to guess: practically all those who peopled his memories were dead. His friends from the University, fellow students who later rallied around him in the Freedom Party; his elderly comrade Bran Foster, of whom he talked with great and almost filial fondness; and Conla and Aran, his brother and sister.

Most of my kin were still alive. Some, admittedly, lived quite perilously, running blockades and making risky deals, as freetrading was our family tradition. Since my escape from the London, I managed to contact them from time to time and learn the news. And although I knew that the Liberator was by far the best refuge for the likes of me, and that any attempt at reunion might be fatal for either me or my family, at least I was aware they were somewhere out there. I had a whole private universe, unshaken, something I could relate to and draw certain strength from.

Blake had nothing of the sort. His past and his roots had been brutally severed from him, both by those who had meddled with his brain and those who had physically destroyed almost everybody he‘d ever loved and cared for. Because I knew this, I understood how Rees had managed to trick him. At least for a moment, Blake must have felt an irrational urge to cling to a hope, to an illusion, that somebody who had mattered so much to him once might still be alive.

And what about me? Why hadn‘t I broken the spell? Why couldn‘t I have brought myself to stop him? But remorse was useless now, I decided, listening to the transmission of Rees‘s flat, emotionless voice as he repeated his instructions. No one was to follow his craft. If the Liberator, or any other vessel, came within the range of his detectors, he would kill his prisoner. As simple as that.

The visplay on the main screen showed Rees‘s regular, almost robotic features, which hardly moved as he spoke, and the contemptuous smile he no longer cared to hide. To think I had ever thought him attractive! Blake was tied to another seat at the flight console, no doubt drugged to the eyeballs. His face, however, seemed relaxed and untroubled. He had an expression of a tired boy who was sound and fast asleep. Somehow, it filled me with more dread than a grimace of pain would have done.

The end of transmission brought an eerie silence aboard the Liberator. I for once found it difficult to cope with reality and my own disbelief. This man, Rees, was so daring, his plan so crude and simple, even to the point of naivety... and yet he had succeeded. I looked at Avon, expecting him to be the first to overcome the shock, but even he was dumbfounded for a moment. Finally he just asked me if I had anything in mind.

"Just the most obvious." I shrugged. "We‘ll use the detector shield and follow, making sure we‘re not picked up by Rees‘s close range scanners. Zen, assuming the ship ahead of us maintains its present speed and course, name its possible destinations within the next twenty hours."

"There is no destination matching the given parameters."

"What if it changes course?" Avon asked.

"Again, nothing," I answered, studying the star chart of the sector. "The nearest inhabited world is Escio, but it lies in a somewhat different direction. Besides, it‘s an open planet. He wouldn‘t go there. My guess is, he‘s going to contact Space Command and appoint a rendezvous with the Fleet ships... not too many space hours from here."

"Which means we don‘t have too much time to think of something," Vila said.

"This just arrived from Albian." Cally joined us, carrying a computer printout. "Cauder‘s men have discovered the Federation base from which Rees took off. They‘ve broken into the data banks and found a thorough description of his ship - equipment, performance, everything. Do you think it could be of any use?"

"Let me see this." Avon snatched the paper nervously. He browsed quickly through a long line of figures and codes, paused for a while, went over the text one more time, and then his face suddenly brightened.

"Yes, it gives us something to start with."

"What does?"

"The navigation unit on Rees‘s ship," Avon explained. "It belongs to the last generation of computers Ensor worked on. It contains a modified and improved version of the Tarial cell... unofficially called Tarial 2. As you know, the Tarial component enables Orac to draw information from any computer containing it. Over the Tarial 2 generation Orac has even greater power. It can attune itself to the circuitry of these computers, interfere with their work, override them, in a word - control them."

"Isn‘t this similar to a project conducted by Space Command," I asked, "the so-called ‘course interceptor‘?"

"True, except that the Federation never solved the problem of attuning, and finally gave up the whole idea. Ensor made it - at least with a limited series of computers - but kept his discovery secret. Practically the only one who knew about it was Orac."

"And it‘s our good luck machines confide in Avon," Vila commented. "They consider him their next of kin."

Avon gave him a scornful look. "Orac is not programmed to keep secrets. It will tell you anything. It only takes a minimal amount of knowledge to ask the right question."

"But if you try meddling with Rees‘s computer," I said, "he might realize it‘s us, and then..."

"He won‘t," Avon interrupted me. "Trust me. He won‘t have a clue. I‘ll make it all look like a malfunction."

I smiled somberly. Was Avon really so enthusiastic about rescuing Blake, or was it just because of the intellectual challenge involved? Perhaps I didn't really care, as long as I knew he was going to do his best to help.

"Cally, can you sense Blake?" Vila asked.

"Yes, even at this distance... I did not believe it would be possible."

"Well, what do you sense? Is he hurt?"

"No. He‘s not even upset... at least not yet." Cally seemed puzzled. "He‘s... I can‘t read minds, but I‘d say he‘s dreaming."

"As always," Avon said.

BLAKE 

At first there was only a voice, drifting through the medley of images behind my eyelids, but I had no doubt it was Aran‘s, firm, confident and full of youthful vigour. The dream distorted what she was saying, and although each word sounded crystal clear, the meaning eluded me. It seemed that, half-jokingly, she chided me for something.

Then I saw her face as well, with a shock of long curly hair and hazel eyes which to me had once been a haven of comfort and reassurance. It must have been an image from long ago, as she looked quite young, hardly adult. I replied to her words in the same incomprehensible language, and she laughed and ran her fingers through my hair.

It was a fragment of some obscure episode from our youth, which I would never fully recover. Most likely it was of no significance; still, I wished I knew what we‘d been talking about. I wished I knew what had made her laugh. But my brain had been sadistically selective in these last two years. The recollections of past happiness would not come back to me too often. The images and experiences I managed to reclaim were chiefly the dreadful ones.

I even recalled some stages of the brainwashing treatment itself. Most of these memories consisted of shifting, nightmarish impressions lacking order and clarity. I must have been drugged most of the time. I vaguely remember lying for hours in a dark chamber, tied, with my head firmly secured and my eyelids lifted and held open in some fashion, so as to force me to stare at quickly flashing images. I remember being deprived of sleep, I remember hypnotic pulse signals and countless injections. But there were other moments, of greater lucidity. From time to time I had managed to overhear parts of conversations, to see or comprehend more than they‘d believed I could. Out of these fragments, I was later able to reconstruct the events.

Originally, it was planned that, along with the Freedom Party and my political ideas, I should also renounce my family. They held that an ideal model citizen, such as they intended to make of me, ought not be burdened by any personal loyalties. My only loyalty was to be the loyalty to the Federation. So they set out to implant false memories which would make me loathe my brother and sister, feel ashamed that we were related and publicly pronounce them traitors and criminals. The combination of aural and visual computer simulations, along with a cocktail of sophisticated drugs, were meant to create an illusion such that I remembered events which had never really happened. I was supposed to believe that my siblings were drug pushers, that my brother had committed several murders, that they both indulged in sexual perversions and had deliberately led me astray ever since our adolescence.

For some unknown reason, that part of the treatment failed. The implanted experiences would not take root in my mind. Maddened and disoriented though I was, I kept rejecting them simply by feeling they had to be false. The therapy was then intensified. I was deprived of sleep for days and given nearly lethal doses of the drugs. But I still resisted. I didn‘t know how it was possible. Perhaps because I knew Conla and Aran so well, I could not be convinced they were capable of committing what these forged memories accused them of. Rather then intellectual, my sureties concerning my family were instinctive and emotional, and that seemed to present my therapists with an insoluble problem.

Finally they had to give up. Had they persisted, they would have killed me, and that they didn‘t want. Instead, and in order to prevent the whole system of my conditioning from falling apart, they just made me believe my family had emigrated to the Outer Planets.

It was a minor victory. I managed to preserve the memory of my dead brother and sister intact. And it was an encouraging thought: to know there existed a small residue of personality which would withstand any oppression.

REES 

I ran another check. Negative on all systems. The Liberator didn‘t follow, nor were there any other spaceships within the detector range. Still, I couldn‘t relax. I didn‘t understand why. Admittedly, the main computer had reported a minor malfunction of the navigation unit, but so far this had caused only two minimal course deflections, which I‘d had to correct manually. It was nothing I couldn‘t handle. But I had some kind of superstitious notion that sooner or later something was bound to go wrong. Up to now I‘d had such unbelievable luck. I‘d got away from the rebels‘ nest on Albian, I‘d escaped the Liberator and was now heading for the appointed place of rendezvous with the Fleet. And I had captured Roj Blake. The Federation‘s most wanted criminal.

I noticed he was coming to, and was curious about his first reactions. I observed him out of the corner of my eye, his tied hands, his fingers, his facial muscles, looking for any outward sign of fear. But I couldn‘t detect any twitching, trembling, any drops of sweat upon his temples. He was either a very good pretender or he was still half-drugged and not fully aware of the mess he was in. I didn‘t believe he was fearless. Nobody is.

In some awkward way, I could almost identify with him. Perhaps because, not so long ago, I had myself experienced a strong fear: the fear of being alone and helpless in the face of inevitable death.

It had all been due to my failure on Albian. Although I had infiltrated one of the resistance groups on the planet almost a year ago, it took me too long to get close to the top and find out their plans. By the time I‘d discovered that Cauder had hired a mercenary and decided to launch a general attack, it was too late to stop them. Stranded among the rebels, I awaited the explosion of the solium device, my guilt so strong I almost felt I deserved such a destiny. Almost.

The readings indicated another course deviation, this time much greater. I was becoming irritated. I‘d examined this vessel thoroughly before leaving Albian. It was supposed to be quite well equipped and fully operational. Finally, I set the main drive control computer to automatic course correction, hoping this wasn‘t going to let me down as well.

Blake‘s voice startled me.

"What happened to my crew?" he asked suddenly. "Did anybody try to stop you? Did you kill any of them?"

I wasn‘t too surprised. I knew who Blake was, and I‘d expected insolent manners.

"You will remain silent, Blake, unless I address you. That is an order."

He took no heed of my stern tone. He looked at me defiantly and repeated in a vigorous and commanding voice, "I demand to know what happened to my crew."

He demanded to know! I almost burst into laughter. In what sort of position was he to demand anything? My first impulse was simply to give him another dose of the drug and send him back to sleep. However, I was intrigued by the man. He amused me, and so I laughed and answered.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. Nobody tried to stop me. Your crew deserted you. Why wouldn‘t they? Don‘t tell me you expected some kind of loyalty from a bunch of criminals? Judging by what we know from their records, they don‘t feel too strongly about your fanatic crusade. They‘ve been probably looking forward to an opportunity to get rid of you and take over the ship. Don‘t cherish any illusions, Blake. They deserted you. Totally."

Blake raised an eyebrow. I couldn‘t tell whether he believed my words, but instead of reacting to them, he seemed to be studying me. He gave me a very strange look, which first took the sneer off my face and then made me sweat. Suddenly I felt as if I was tied to the seat instead of him, as if I was his prisoner and not the other way round. I had an uncanny feeling the damn resister could see right through me. I looked away to hide my uneasiness. Then I met his eyes again and asked him coldly:

"How does it feel to be deserted, Blake?"

"It‘s funny that you should mention that word so often," he said.

"What?"

"Deserted. I should have realized it sooner. You were deserted, weren‘t you, Rees? You are actually talking about yourself. When Provine and the others activated the solium bomb and set out to escape, they didn‘t count you in. There wasn‘t a place reserved for you in that rocket. Like so many other Federation soldiers and officers, you were left to die with the rebels. So now you think your luck has changed. No doubt they‘ll promote you for arresting me. But the truth is, Rees, they don‘t give a damn about you. The Federation cares nothing for an individual. You‘re only a pawn in their game. And nobody cares whether you live or die."

BLAKE 

Rees got up, grabbed my collar and clenched his fist. His face flushed with anger.

So I‘d guessed right. I‘d discovered his weak point. Well, hooray for me, as Avon would say. Judging by the size of this man‘s hand, he was going to break my nose or my jaw with a single blow. Or do something equally unfriendly, anyway...

For some reason, he hesitated. I couldn‘t make out why. This time it was much more difficult to see through him. All I could read from his glare was intense hatred and a keen desire to beat me to a pulp. What could possibly hold him back? A sense of justice? Moral considerations? But that would hardly be in line with his profession...

Whatever it was, Rees didn‘t strike me. With an apparent effort of will, he calmed down and slowly let go of my collar. Then he gave me a disdainful look followed by a contemptuous smile and returned to his seat.

Time passed, and he would not turn his gaze towards me again, but kept looking at the flight controls. It seemed that he had put our dispute out of mind and was now worried about something else. I strained my eyes and somehow managed to catch a glimpse of the readings at his console.

I could only make out that he was dealing with some grave directional control malfunctions. Some of the other computer-based units seemed to be out of order as well. He was growing quite anxious and perplexed. I wondered whether it was all just an accident...

CALLY 

"We‘ve intercepted another message," Jenna reported. "From Rees to Space Command. Disturbances of unknown origin have forced him to take a new course. He‘s going to land on the planet Escio and try and repair his craft, or obtain another. He requests that the Fleet ships come to his aid immediately." Her expression showed slight relief. "Well done, Avon. Thank you."

"What exactly did you do?" Vila asked.

"Let‘s just say, I used Orac to buy Blake some more time," Avon replied dryly. "A more sophisticated explanation would be beyond your powers of comprehension."

"I bet it‘s beyond yours as well," Vila said roguishly. "After all, it was Orac who crazed Rees‘s computer, and not you, Fingers. All you did was kindly ask him to do the job."

I stood aside and listened, not to their usual petty tiffs, but to the ring of newly awakened hope in their voices. Jenna and Vila seemed much more lively, and even Avon, although he appeared as reserved as always, couldn‘t completely hide his satisfaction. I felt the tension subsiding all around me, but I couldn‘t join in. Somewhere within me a vague apprehension developed, like a dark embryo, and I waited for it to grow and assume a shape.

"So we wait until they land, then we teleport, find Blake and rescue him," Vila said enthusiastically.

"A piece of cake," Avon murmured.

"And what do we know about Escio, except that it‘s an open planet, that is, crawling with mercenaries, maniacs, killers and other nice people?" Vila asked. "Why was it pronounced an open planet, anyway?"

"It‘s something to do with the ice crystals," Jenna replied. "Deposits were discovered recently on one of the continents. It‘s not a very densely populated world, though. Most of it‘s mountainous; there‘s hardly any native life forms, and the average temperature is below freezing. There's permanent snow and ice everywhere except low-lying regions and even then only near the equator. All the settlements are in valleys where the snow melts in summer. The planet‘s effectively peopled only by the mining corporations and their armies of mercenaries. The competition is fierce. It‘s a free market in the strictest sense of the word."

"The more competition you kill, the bigger the prices, I suppose," Vila said.

"Avon."

That was my voice. I was hardly aware I had spoken. The precognition had overwhelmed me and I was extremely frightened.

"What is it, Cally?"

"Avon," I repeated, burying my face in my hands. "Don‘t let him land on Escio. Keep disturbing him. Make him direct his ship somewhere else. They mustn‘t go to Escio. They mustn‘t -"

"What are you talking about, Cally?"

I couldn‘t come up with anything more. I felt lonelier than ever. I wished at least one of them was an Auron. It would be so much easier to convey my intimations to a telepath.

"I sense danger... a grave danger for Blake lying ahead."

"Rubbish," Avon snapped at me. "Of course you sense danger. You needn‘t get into a fit of mystical rapture to tell it‘s going to be dangerous to snatch Blake from the hands of a fanatic Fed and to get away from a place full of trigger-happy crooks."

"Not to mention those Federation ships Rees invited to back him up," Jenna added.

"Right," Avon said. "But what else can we do? It‘s our best chance."

"But it‘s not that," I argued. "It‘s something else... Something we aren‘t expecting."

I struggled to express my notion in the inadequate language of rational words. And danger wasn‘t the right one. It wasn‘t a matter of a momentary threat, where one quick movement, or a wise decision, might be sufficient to save one‘s life. I knew Blake was able to cope with such situations, as he had done so many times before. But I sensed something much more disturbing, a prolonged hardship which sapped one‘s strength and weakened one‘s will persistently, slowly, until the final moment.

"Cally‘s predictions are usually right," Vila ventured.

"This is not a prediction," Jenna said sharply. She tapped a key on her console to display the data on the main screen. "Rees‘s ship - it‘s under attack."

BLAKE 

It all happened in a matter of minutes. As we were nearing Escio, four ships surfaced from the edge of the atmosphere, their outlines rapidly growing bigger on the scanner display. One of them was a civil transporter. The remaining three were gunships.

As far as I knew, the only things exported from Escio were ice crystals; presumably the gunships served as an escort protecting the transporter‘s valuable cargo from robbery or destruction. But if protection was their job, then they were a little too enthusiastic about it. Before Rees could make any contact, they drew up into battle formation and opened fire.

Rees cursed and put up the force wall just in time to prevent a plasma bolt from blowing our craft apart. It shook badly, but there was no serious damage. He tried to turn and run away, but he was too close to Escio, and with the force wall draining a great deal of energy, there wasn‘t enough left for the boosters to beat the gravity drag. The ship slowed down, coming almost to a halt, and the attackers had us in strike range again.

Another blow shook the vessel.

I realized what a mess we were in. Rees couldn‘t handle this situation alone. We were both going to die.

"Untie me.  Let me help you with the ship."

"Do you think I‘m crazy?" he yelled. "These are your compatriots! I promised I would kill you if they tried anything."

"Nonsense! I have no allies here. These are pirates. Can‘t you see they‘re trying to blow us both to pieces? We have to work together!"

But he wouldn‘t listen to reason. He gave me a short, bewildered look and then fixed his eyes again on the display.

The ship was hit again. I twitched angrily in my seat, pointlessly tugging at the cuffs. I strained to find the words which would get through to him. I knew I had to be persuasive. My life depended on it. But finally I just shouted, "Look, forget everything else and let me help! I want to stay alive as badly as you do!"

He turned towards me, and time seemed to stop for a moment. This was the first time I encountered such a desperate, haunted look upon his face. Suddenly, I asked myself, did I tell the truth? Did he really want to stay alive?

On the surface, there was nothing suicidal or apathetic about his actions or his disposition; but at that instant I thought I caught a glimpse of something deep inside him, some hidden feeling of hopelessness and futility which weakened his will to survive by the minute.

Then we sustained another hit. He started, and the look was gone, as if a veil was drawn over it. His face resumed its usual arrogant and resolute expression. But my words had been effective. He took the handcuff keys from his pocket and unlocked me. I felt extreme relief, knowing that, at least, I wasn‘t going to die immobile and helpless. I quickly took the flight position and went through the readings. The overall power loss wasn‘t too great. We still had a chance. I suggested we track the plasma bolts and apply the force wall only to selected areas, and only shortly before the impact. This would give us enough energy to move away from the planet‘s hold and shake off the pursuers. Two of us could manage such a maneuver. He said it was worth trying.

It worked. We started picking up speed, and although we were exposed to constant fire, we gradually increased the distance. I thought we were going to succeed. Then, quite unexpectedly, Rees failed to activate the force wall in time. A powerful explosion in the rear tumbled the ship and sent us both flying. I hit the edge of the view port, bruising my forearms badly. I saw Rees‘s limp body sliding down the control board, leaving a bloody trace behind.

REES 

I was coming to, trying to recall what had happened. My face was all wet. I wondered where the water could have come from. Then I realized it was blood. I remembered the explosion. But how come I was in a life capsule? It must have been Blake who had shoved me inside. But why would Blake do anything like that?

The capsule was still. The readings indicated it had landed some time ago. I tried to activate the opening mechanism, but I couldn‘t control my movements. Then the hatch slid open by itself and somebody‘s hands dragged me out. Blake.

I found myself on a snowy slope, with massive rocky peaks obstructing the horizon line everywhere like sharp teeth. The howling wind lifted veils of surface snow and blew the icy spindrift into my face. It chilled me to the core. The sky was dark blue and the light dim.

Blake improvised a bandage and fastened it around my head. He asked me whether I could move my limbs. He had to yell to beat the roar of wind. I said I didn‘t know. I had no will to try. He said the night was approaching and we had to make some sort of shelter. He said it wouldn‘t be wise to try and spend the night in the capsules, as they had both landed on sheer ground and an avalanche might easily sweep them away. I couldn‘t think clearly and didn‘t quite understand what it all meant.

He dragged me a dozen yards further down the slope, under the lee of a small rock-face. He helped me lean against it. Then he started digging into the slope, using the hatch plate as a spade. There seemed to be no earth where he was digging, just the endless piles of snow. He worked with desperate speed, competing with the thickening darkness, striking deeper and deeper into the slope.

As I lay immobile, watching him and shivering of cold, my sight grew hazy and I became uncertain of where I was. I was on Albian again, waiting for the radiation device to explode; and then I was in the underground tunnel, carrying an unconscious Blake on my back and running away from his shipmates; and then, maneuvering the vessel attacked by pirates. But regardless of how hard I fought to stay alive, regardless of the pride I took in my skills and my presence of mind, a voice always echoed in my head, a voice which kept repeating: nobody cares whether you live or die. Nobody cares whether you live or die...

Blake shook my shoulders and slapped me in the face, repeating that to survive I had to stay awake. I opened my eyes with great effort. Dark clouds raced across the starry sky. The ferocity of the wind had increased and I wondered how I‘d managed to sleep at all. Blake lifted me up and carried me into the snow hole he had dug. He left me there and I lay on the cold surface staring blankly into complete darkness. Should I be afraid, I wondered, to lie in this snowy grave? Should I be astonished that Blake was helping me? I had no emotions. I couldn‘t reason either. My mind felt as numb as my body.

Blake returned after a few minutes with a flashlight. He also had with him the med kit and a handful of other items salvaged from the life capsules. He closed the entrance to the den with a block of snow. Then he untied my bandage and treated my wound more properly with the tissue regenerator from the kit. That didn‘t cause me too much pain, either. I vaguely wondered whether I was going to remain paralysed.

For quite some time, I stared at the dim circle the flashlight projected upon the wall, unable to focus on anything. Then my mind slowly started recovering. I noticed how our respiration gradually increased the temperature in the shelter, making it more or less bearable. I thought how Blake had had a healthy impulse to burrow under the snow, like an animal. Something you would hardly expect from a dome-born alpha grade. All our reports, however, suggested that his survival skills were outstanding. He might have acquired them while living with the outsiders, in the period before Travis had made the arrest.

My military training had also taught me something about improvising natural shelters. The type Blake had built was known as ‘the wolf‘s den‘, named after a wild animal species made extinct centuries ago on Earth.

"The wolf‘s den," I repeated. I wondered what the species had looked like. I turned my head slowly towards Blake‘s quiet figure, absorbed in thought. His species, it occurred to me, would soon be extinct as well. Most of the resisters would be exterminated and the rest would simply die out. Our psychologists were now able to detect antisocial behaviour early in childhood and employ a therapy to erase problematic areas of personality. In a generation or two it would become virtually impossible to grow into a person such as Roj Blake.

And then I experienced one of those awkward emotional reactions which were so typical of concussion. For suddenly I felt that this prospect was horrible and that the entire construct of the Federation was utterly wrong. And I was afraid.

BLAKE 

"Where are we?"

I shrugged. "I know as much as you do. I saw nothing but mountains on the way down. We‘ll try and orientate in the morning."

I turned towards him. He was definitely coming round. He was able to sit without support now, his look had become more focused and the familiar scornful lines reappeared around his mouth. "As you may have noticed, this is not a very hospitable world," I added. "We‘ll have to join forces in order to survive. I suggest a kind of truce... until we reach safety."

"Agreed," he said after giving it some thought. "But you won‘t gain much by that. The Federation troops will soon find us. You won‘t get away this time, Blake."

"That remark has been made before."

He laughed. "I would admire your confidence, except that it is totally ungrounded. What can you possibly hope for? That your loyal crew will be looking for you?"

I made no reply to that.

"And then, after you are rescued?" he asked mockingly. "What will you and your friends do with me?"

"Hand you over to the people of Albian," I said calmly. "I‘m sure you have information that will be useful to them."

He sneered. "So what? Do you really think I would reveal anything to you or to anybody else? You‘re dreaming, Blake. There‘s no way you can save the Albians. They will be punished for their insurrection. The bomb hasn‘t gone off, but this time they‘ll get what they deserve."

It took me a considerable effort of will not to kill him on the spot, although we had just reached an agreement, although he was wounded and unarmed. I rubbed my eyes nervously. Well, at least he was honest. What other answer could I expect from a security officer?

It would have been more like Aran, perhaps, to believe that people such as Rees still had conscience which could be reached and stirred. It was probably one of the reasons why she‘d never joined the Freedom party. She thought my methods were too radical. She didn‘t believe that a revolution would bring anything good to the world. No revolution ever had, she said. Violence only bred more violence. When I argued that the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, who‘d die in the uprising against the Federation would in turn bring freedom to millions, and to many generations to come, she said she couldn‘t equate people to numbers. To cause the death of a single person was wrong. Each human being was unique, a manifold of qualities, thoughts, memories and dreams. How could I claim the right to decide who was to live and who was to be sacrificed for this bright new future I promised?

She didn‘t have a concept, though, nor a political philosophy of her own. When I asked her what was the alternative, she would admit she didn‘t know. Or she would come up with some fantastic plans and ideas which were utterly naive and useless... On one occasion I found out about the political prisoners who were being brainwashed in the rehab centre in our dome. I told Aran I‘d decided to raid the place and free them.

"But there is no need to resort to violence," she pleaded. "Why don‘t you contact the media? Present them with all the documents, all the facts you have. Once this matter becomes widely known, the administration will have to give in under public pressure. Or find someone influential you can confide in. There are bound to be some honest people in the Government. They cannot all be corrupt, Roj. Not all of them."

"But this is ridiculous, Aran. The media are all controlled by the administration. There would be an automatic blackout on news like this. They would never publish what we know. Nor is there anyone in high places I can trust. To try and make this public would be sheer madness. I would be arrested in a matter of hours, or killed in a fake accident."

It was ridiculous all right. But perhaps I should have listened to her anyway. At least I wouldn‘t have led so many people to their deaths. I remembered this conversation so well, because it was only a few weeks later that we were ambushed by Travis‘s troops and most of my friends massacred. Conla and Aran were probably arrested soon after that. Although they were not directly involved, the surname Blake made them guilty enough to be exiled to the Outer Planets and then killed in secrecy.

I killed them, in a way. My activities killed them. And I knew this would happen. When I got hit in the leg and went down, one of the thoughts that flashed through my mind was that my family was doomed as well. Then the guards seized me and a nightmare began which made clear thinking impossible.

They cannot all be corrupt, Roj, she said. Not all of them.

But they were...

REES 

I stood on the slope, shivering, hands tucked in sleeves, collar turned upright as a feeble protection against the maddening wind. New piles of snow covered the ground, rendering the landscape in completely new contours. Endless undulations of virgin white bore no witness to our previous night‘s landing. The capsules were gone. The avalanche had swept them away from the surface and hurled them over the ridges protruding below. Blake‘s prediction had come true. I shuddered at the thought that I might have been inside. And yet, at the same time, the precipice held an uncanny fascination for me, it lured and invited and it was with extreme effort that I diverted my gaze from its rocky edge.

The dawn struck me as even colder than the previous dusk, and the landscape as even more hostile. Aretes were etched on the turbulent sky, lower slopes made unclear by the wind which constantly raised clouds of snow. The realization came to me slowly, very slowly, of the desperate position we were in. We had no survival equipment, no food, no thermal clothes and no means to send a distress call. I knew what it meant, but the recognition was presently only rational and not yet emotional. I still didn‘t fear; I just knew I ought to be frightened. Very frightened.

I threw a questioning glance at Blake, who was squatting to lessen the exposure to wind and scrutinizing the neighbouring tops. Suddenly, he stood up and gave me a sideways look.

"Let‘s move," he ordered. "I‘ll tell you the plan on the way."

In spite of the cold, I felt my cheeks blush with anger at his tone. Did the criminal really imagine he could command me just like that? And the way he did it! He would not suggest, or discuss, or even ask for consent, merely relate his plan which, it seemed, was to be carried out anyway. But even before these frustrating thoughts were fully formed in my mind, I found myself obeying, walking quickly to catch up with Blake who was heading up the slope. He didn‘t halt until we were at the foot of the nearest peak.

"We need to climb up there," he said. "The sky is clearing, so we‘re likely to have a good view from the summit.  We might spot a settlement or a valley."

I argued that it would be sheer madness to climb without proper gear, but he was persistent, saying that this was the only way to orientate ourselves. We were probably on a huge platform and our only hope, he pointed out, was to get to the edge of this platform and reach the lower altitudes before we died of hypothermia and exhaustion. We had to determine the shortest way. Again, I found myself angry but obeying this domineering know-all.

We had five hundred meters of ascent ahead of us and we were going almost straight up. We alternated every fifteen minutes in beating the path. The daily sloughs of avalanches had hardened the snow and the climb was dangerous and difficult. The final part of ascent was almost vertical and the snow would not yield under my weight. For each new step I had to hit the surface with my boot to ensure at least some hold.

Blake was the first to reach the summit. I trailed behind him, breathless but at least blissfully warmed up by climbing. He directed my gaze south-east, where a narrow valley was set deep among the massifs. The distance was difficult to estimate. It was evidently at a much lower altitude. There was no snow and it was green and dotted with shrubs. A large field covered its widest part and a stream ran through it.

"There, at the edge of the field." I pointed. "There‘s a small building. Some kind of a prefab. Do you think it‘s deserted?"

"Probably." Once again the resister fixed his eyes upon me with the intensity which made me sweat. "And you know why."

Yes, I knew what he was aiming at. I couldn‘t pretend I didn‘t. Most of the original settlers were either driven away from Escio or killed in an attempt to protect their land. They had been a peculiar group of people: some kind of utopians, who had planned to raise cattle in these valleys. Despite the harsh climate, they appreciated the healthy environment and unpolluted atmosphere and chose to live in a rather primitive fashion. But then the ice crystals were discovered here, a mineral too valuable to be neglected. The Administration declared the suspension of the penal code so that the mining corporations could seize the territory. And the utopians had either to emigrate or die.

The whole act was well justified in front of the public, an explanation supported by solid facts and arguments; but now, confronted with the quiet pain and anger in Blake‘s eyes, I couldn‘t recall a single word of it.

BLAKE 

I stopped walking and closed my eyes, but all I could hear were echoes of words uttered by familiar voices: hallucinatory sounds caused by the cold and exhaustion. Only a moment ago, one of these voices had seemed to be Cally‘s. She‘d urged me not to lose hope and assured me that they would soon find me.

It could have been a telepathic message, but I wasn‘t certain. Cally‘s ‘thoughts‘ usually came to me with much greater clarity. It could easily have been no more than wishful thinking.

Still, with me, hope and trust are always obstinate companions, the ones I find extremely hard to get rid of. And I did trust my crew. I trusted they wouldn‘t let me down. No, not even Avon, though we often spoke daggers. One would have to be blind not to notice the discrepancy between his words and his actions...

And if they did find me, and I managed to get away from this frozen wasteland - what then? Most likely I was going to resume the quest for Control. With the information I‘d gathered, I knew I now stood a good chance of finding it. Better than anyone in the history of the resistance ever had. And to destroy it would mean, as I‘d often told myself, the final victory. Yet for many people it was going to be simply final... The number of those who‘d have to die in course of bringing down the Federation was horrifying. Aran had been right. One couldn‘t think of those deaths in abstract terms. Was it really the only option I had?

Since Gan‘s death, I had lost my absolute certainty in many respects. Time and again I‘d thought about all those whose death I‘d caused, directly or indirectly, all those who had died because they‘d followed me or had been related to me, but also all those who‘d died on the other side, the Federation troops, personnel, crews, scientists... Sometimes it seemed to me that all I‘d achieved in these two years was senseless killing and destruction. Violence, as Aran had said, only bred more violence. Yes, she had been right about that too. I had to admit, in the long run, that she‘d been right about many things. What had once seemed to me no more than the prattle of an idealistic girl now gained much deeper sense. It appeared to me, almost, that she had been preaching some ancient religion banned by the Federation.

The strain made me focus once more on the immediate reality. We had been walking for six or seven hours now. The sky was turbulent and the freezing wind seldom gave us relief. I felt I was verging on hypothermia, and the lack of food was taking its toll as well. A few hours ago, while crossing a mountain saddle, we‘d caught another glimpse of the valley. We‘d been going in the right direction, but it didn‘t seem a mile closer. The same miniature river running through, the same miniature thicket on the shore, as though we‘d made no progress at all. It was a discouraging sight.

Now we edged up a steep slope covered by a treacherous crust of frozen snow. Usually sliding down would mean no more than loosing time and strength, but this time the hungry mouth of a large crevasse gaped at the bottom. Rees led the way, and when he reached a small ledge he turned towards me. He had a strange look on his face which I could not interpret: with equal certainty I expected him to push me down or hold out his hand and help me climb up.

REES 

At first moving kept me warm, kept my heart pumping blood to the surface of the body, and I thought I‘d be all right as long as I could maintain the same fast pace. But after ten hours of walking, the blood seemed to recoil to the centre of my body, leaving the extremities numb and frozen to the marrow. I could no longer feel my toes. My face ached and I rubbed my nose and ears and cheekbones almost incessantly to bring life and feeling back into them. I could no longer eat snow to quench thirst. My throat felt sore and frozen as well.

Late in the afternoon, the wind quieted and slant rays touched my back, but neither rendered true comfort. The sun had passed its zenith long ago; I wondered how much longer the day was going to last. We walked for four more hours, taking hardly any rest, winding through impenetrable and icy shadows of the monumental peaks, taking turns in beating the path every half an hour or so. Then I realized it was gradually becoming darker. After a very short night, we‘d had an extensive period of daylight. I concluded with some irony that it must be summer in this hemisphere of the planet.

"What now?" I asked, ashamed of my own voice, coming out trembling and desperate, almost a whimper. "Another shelter?"

Blake stopped and looked at the clear evening sky, the incredible dark blue over the white surface.

"No. No shelters. We‘ll have good calm weather. No storms like the previous night. We‘ll go on walking. Put an end to this. I want to get to this valley by dawn."

I didn‘t argue, and didn‘t even feel a need to argue. By that time I was certain I was going to die, so why push for something which would only prolong my sufferings? Besides, death by freezing was known to be almost blissful, the gradual relief from cold accompanied by most peaceful sleep...

Blake led the way and I waded into his tracks mechanically, step after step, repeating the same tiresome movements which had lost all sense. There wasn‘t really any reason to keep going. Perhaps I should have admitted this much earlier, long before planetfall on Escio. I recalled how, after the bomb had failed on Albian, I‘d resumed my duty with great zeal, using a hidden communications center to send report after report about the rebels‘ army, weaponry, defence... I‘d had a desperate urge to atone for my failure and prove my worth again to my superiors. And I was succeeding. I was aware of how useful I‘d been - I knew the information was vital to our forces for planning the new invasion. Still, it could not erase the feeling of meaninglessness which haunted me. Even capturing Blake couldn‘t erase that.

The night soon fell, revealing a multitude of stars. Escio had no satellites and the sight reminded me of the few moonless nights on Earth I‘d spent outside the domes. The sky seemed as frozen as the ground and the air. Suddenly, as if some primordial experience had come to the fore, all my knowledge was gone, and before my eyes the stars turned into living, conscious entities, observing me, presiding... They seemed to ask question after question, about my identity and the purpose of my existence, and I didn‘t have any answers. I was a soldier sworn to serve a gigantic system. I had fed on its power and mistakenly identified with it. Blake was right. The Federation cared nothing for an individual. Within the Federation‘s enormous organism I was merely a cell, a nail or a hair that could be removed without any damage to the vigour of the whole.

Blake‘s figure in front of me was becoming smaller and smaller. I realized I had come to a halt. It flashed through my mind that I was no longer alive, or perhaps that only the slightest portion of myself still persisted, a ghost keeping the dead body erect. And then even that became too much effort. I fell on my knees.

I shivered as the snow permeated through my clothes and iced my knees and shins. I didn‘t mind that I was going to die: I just regretted I didn‘t have a gun to take Blake with me as well. It seemed unfair that the damn resister should have enough strength to go on living.

Some fifty yards in front of me, Blake stopped. His back still turned to me, he stood waiting. His broad shoulders were bent, his head hung. "Just keep walking, Blake," I thought, "don‘t stand there. Do you think I‘d wait for you if it were the other way round? Keep walking. You‘ll get to that valley, I know, even if you have to crawl. You‘re the most stubborn man I‘ve ever met. Go on! Why do you mock me by standing there and waiting so long?"

Blake slowly walked back to where I knelt. The brightness of snow made his features clearly visible. His face mirrored my own exhaustion, except for the eyes, which emanated the same inner strength and firmness as ever. I hated him.

"Just go," I hissed.

He held out his hand.

"Come on," he said simply.

"I can‘t."

A cloud of white mist fluttered in front of his face as he sighed.

"Look," he said. "It‘s not the matter of strength and you know it. Your legs can hold. But you‘ve surrendered. You‘ve lost the will to fight. You won‘t make it if you don‘t want to."

"Why would you care?"

He shrugged. "You‘re a human being. Or, at least outwardly, you resemble one."

"And that is all?"

On his upper lip, the frozen moisture of breathing danced and I realized that he smiled.

"This isn‘t a very good moment to get philosophical, now is it? Just give me your hand."

It was such a strange night, silent and interplanetary cold. Once again, I met Blake‘s vigorous look. Who was this man? A terrorist, a child molester, a fanatic waging his war against the Federation, jeopardizing its stability and the welfare of its citizens... All the official pronouncements had somehow lost their ring of truth. Who was the man standing in front of me? I wasn‘t certain about anything any more.

I took his hand and got up. Suddenly I realized how much pain I must have caused him by telling him his sister was still alive. In a way, I‘d always known that, but it hadn‘t seemed to matter. He was a criminal, she an accomplice, and I‘d seen no reason why I should waste any emotions on him or worry about his own. But at this moment it all seemed so different. At this moment he was just another human being.

AVON

There was hardly any furniture in the room, and the floor was bare except for the few dirty rags. He was lying on one of them and staring at me and Jenna emptily. His body seemed completely limp and didn‘t even twitch when we entered. I recognized him right away. You don‘t easily forget a face you first saw behind a gun pointed at you. He had changed, though. Those handsome, proportional features, which could have once exemplified the perfection of the Federation army, now bore the imprint of utter exhaustion and suffering. His complexion seemed unnatural, there were dark rings round his eyes and his lips were chapped. The disdain and pride were gone from his face as well. But it was Rees. There was no mistake about it.

"Where‘s Blake?" Jenna asked him.

He didn‘t answer, although his gaze became slightly more focused. He seemed to recognize us as well. I took a step forward and pointed the gun at his greyish face.

"Don‘t think I‘ll take pity on you for being ill. I‘m a bad shot - I prefer stationary targets. Now tell me: What have you done with Blake?"

He didn‘t look frightened by my threats. There was even a trace of humour in the sunken eyes. It was the expression of a man who had nothing to lose.

"Nothing," he said, in a hardly audible voice. "He‘s all right... He‘ll be here soon."

Jenna looked at me indecisively. I lowered my gun, deciding to wait and see whether he was telling the truth. A lie is a weapon of survival, and it was quite obvious that the man before us had given up the fight to survive.

"There, on Albian," I said. "Why didn‘t you kill me?"

He closed his eyes tiredly and then opened them again, as if my questions were simply tedious.

"You weren‘t armed," he said. "You dropped your gun. I‘ve never killed an unarmed man in my life."

"Avon," somebody else said behind my back. "Don‘t hurt him."

"I wasn‘t intending to," I replied to the familiar voice. I turned and, just as I expected, there was our fearless leader standing in the doorway. He held a bottle of water in his hand. He gave me a faint smile. He didn‘t seem too surprised to see us, as if he‘d taken for granted we would move heaven and earth to find him. Jenna cried out, "Blake!" and ran to hug him.

They laughed and embraced and exchanged pathetic words and gestures for quite a while. Then the euphoria decreased slightly and Jenna gave Blake a short account of how we‘d followed and how I had used Orac to force Rees to reroute. When Rees‘s ship was attacked, she explained, we couldn‘t help, as we were almost simultaneously attacked by a squadron of Federation ships on their way to help Rees.

"We managed to lock tracers on to your capsules," she went on, "but we couldn‘t start searching right away, not until we got rid of those pursuit ships. So it took us quite some time to find you. And you made things even more difficult by moving constantly."

"It was freezing up there," Blake said with feigned indignation. "I had to move. Would you rather I‘d hibernated?"

"Wouldn‘t that be nice?" I said.

"We‘d wake you up, eventually," Jenna added, laughing. "In ten years or so."

A quiet moan came from behind us and she broke off. Blake‘s gaze turned to Rees. Quite unsteady on his feet, Blake slowly passed us, knelt by the ill man and offered him water. Rees accepted the bottle gratefully, but drank in small sips, with a painful grimace on his face.

“He's not an enemy," Blake told us softly. “Not any more. He told me everything he knew about the invasion on Albian. He let me know what information he sent to the Federation and what objectives they were particularly interested in. This way we can deduce a lot about their plans. He also gave me the locations of a few large Federation bases hidden on the planet. They would've been crucial to the invasion forces; now Cauder and his men can use them to their advantage... They might just be able to drive back the attack."

Why was I not surprised? Given enough time, a born manipulator such as Blake would probably persuade Servalan herself to resign and join the rebellion. I watched Rees drinking. Suddenly I became aware of a faint festering smell filling the room. Only then did I notice the hideous black blisters covering his hands.

"Frostbite?" I asked Blake. "How come it didn‘t happen to you?"

"He... gave up," Blake said. "I think he simply wanted to die. Last night - on our way here - I must have forced him back to his feet a dozen times. I literally dragged him for the last mile or so. When we finally reached the valley, I was nearly done for myself. I broke into this building, and by a miracle, the heating system was still operational... The power‘s provided by that waterfall you must have seen nearby. I turned it on and then - I collapsed. And when I woke up, he was like this."

"The triumph of the will to live," I muttered. It was an intriguing story. The Federation man had presented a puzzle ever since our first encounter. He was of a similar burly build to Blake and even taller than him, but the impeccable facade of the face and body evidently concealed some inner weakness and confusion I didn‘t have enough clues to understand. Blake had somehow divined it and taken advantage. Just as he always did.

"I lied to you, Blake," Rees said suddenly. "I told you nobody had tried to rescue you on Albian. This man... Avon... went after me. He surrendered when I threatened to kill you. He risked his life for you. I‘d say - you have loyal friends..."

Blake looked deep into my eyes.

"I never doubted that," he said in that warm, reassuring voice which annoyed me so much.

JENNA

As I watched Blake and Avon facing each other in a moment of silence, I suddenly realized how much Blake trusted Avon, and how Avon, almost against his conscious will, strove not to fail that great trust...

"So what do you intend to do with your new friend, Blake?" Avon asked. Blake‘s thankfulness obviously made him feel so awkward that he had to change the subject quickly. "Nurse him aboard the Liberator? Or ask his colleagues over to take care of him?"

"Neither," Blake answered calmly, ignoring Avon‘s cynicism. "I just want to stay here a couple of minutes longer... He‘s dying."

It was not a very clever thing to do, what with quite a few Federation troops and flyers in the area looking for Blake and Rees, and the Liberator none too safe in its orbit either. I expected some poisonous remark from Avon, but to my surprise, he just nodded.

We sat down on the floor in the corner of the room. From time to time we would exchange a few words, otherwise we were silent. Rees was dying quietly. There were no sighs, no dramatic gestures, no pathetic words. He was breathing quite regularly and staring ahead. I wondered how conscious he was at all. Did he know we were there? Did our presence mean anything to him? I thought again of how hard Blake had fought to save this man‘s life. He could be quite harsh sometimes, but he also had a strange capacity for mercy and forgiveness which I found so hard to understand.

After a while I noticed that Rees had closed his eyes, but his breathing was still audible. Then it ceased. We sat quietly for a while longer. Then Avon got up and touched the man‘s neck to check his pulse.

"He‘s dead."

To linger there longer and bury him would have been too risky. The Federation could be there any moment, and at any rate they would discover his body within the next few hours. Blake must have thought in a similar manner, as he didn‘t say anything. He got up absent-mindedly and put on the teleport bracelet I handed him. Avon raised his bracelet to his lips to contact the ship.

"Blake," I asked quietly. "The story Rees told you - about your family. Was there any truth in that?"

Blake shook his head, staring at the floor. "This morning he told me... he didn‘t know. He was given the story by his superiors and instructed to use it as a bait to catch me. Most likely it was invented by psychostrategists. And I though I had grown callous to their forgeries..." He grinned ruefully. "The Federation know me well, Jenna. Too well."

I wanted to ask another question; but then he took my hand. And the desperate strength of that grip revealed to me much more than his words ever would.


End file.
